Father. He will devour all the souls in Highwater and his taint shall spread far beyond the boundaries of this town. Even now, he begins to release his evil while you waste your time with me. I could be your ally in this fight. I want nothing more than to see him fail.”
“ In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I cast you from this man!” Father Paige shouted and pressed the scripture against Baalon’s flesh once more. Baalon’s will to remain in his host was strong, but the priest’s faith was stronger, fueled by the power of God. Baalon shrieked and his hold within the battered body broke. His essence flew from the man he’d held under his power for so long and dissipated into the night.
Father Paige released the man from his chains and lifted his head with a gentle hand. “You are free now, son.”
The man was soaked in sweat and could barely speak, but he managed a weak whisper into Father Paige’s ear. “Thank you, Father, but you’ve made a terrible mistake.”
One
Now
L ouis Farmer felt as if he were riding into Hell. The interior of the stagecoach was like an inferno as the sun’s blazing rays fell on its roof. Large dark, wet patches of sweat stained the underarms of his expensive suit, and the constant bouncing as the stage rattled along the trail did nothing to ease his stomach, which was already tied into a nervous knot.
He should be back in his office in New York City, editing the latest manuscript to come across his desk—not out here, away from proper civilization, chasing a nightmare. Kramer, his boss at the publishing company, demanded he head into the field as if he were a lowly journalist instead of a well-respected, world-renown editor.
The simple truth was the book he was currently stuck with needed more substance in order to be publishable; and, since the author was dead, it fell to Louis Farmer, editor extraordinaire, to “fix” the problem. Kramer, notoriously tight with his money, wasn’t about to hire a ghost writer to travel west and finish the project when he could just as easily use Louis to do the job without shelling out an additional penny beyond Louis’ normal salary and travel expenses. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead, above his gold-rimmed glasses.
Three other passengers shared the stifling stage with him. The man to his left was in his early twenties and had introduced himself as Michael Clark. He was smugly charismatic, with a roguish sort of charm. Louis pegged him as a gambler from the way he shuffled a worn deck of cards with practiced ease as they rode.
Across from them sat Mr. O’Rouke, a lawman in route to Reaper’s Valley to become its new sheriff. O’Rouke was a giant of a man, standing well over six feet in height, with wide shoulders and chiseled, rugged features. His look of hardness bespoke of years carving out a living with the deadly Colt .45 he wore holstered on his belt, low on his hip.
The lawman’s handshake was so firm, Louis had wondered if the cursory, polite gesture was going to break every bone in his hand when they’d been introduced.
Yet it was the fourth passenger who held Louis’ attention and interest, and he was quite certain the beauty had captured the awareness of the other two men, as well. Her name was Eliza Green. Even in these horrid conditions, she was stunning in her black dress.
She was headed west to settle the affairs of her recently deceased brother. It was easy to see she came from wealth by her gentile manner, but Louis’s interest in her was much more physical in nature. Her figure was slender and fetching beneath her dress, and her long blond hair was pulled back behind her head, showcasing her long, slender neck.
Her blue eyes were mesmorizing, and Louis forced himself to stare out the window lest he be caught staring at her. “Mr. Farmer? Excuse me, Mr. Farmer?” she unexpectedly called to him in her cultured
“ In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I cast you from this man!” Father Paige shouted and pressed the scripture against Baalon’s flesh once more. Baalon’s will to remain in his host was strong, but the priest’s faith was stronger, fueled by the power of God. Baalon shrieked and his hold within the battered body broke. His essence flew from the man he’d held under his power for so long and dissipated into the night.
Father Paige released the man from his chains and lifted his head with a gentle hand. “You are free now, son.”
The man was soaked in sweat and could barely speak, but he managed a weak whisper into Father Paige’s ear. “Thank you, Father, but you’ve made a terrible mistake.”
One
Now
L ouis Farmer felt as if he were riding into Hell. The interior of the stagecoach was like an inferno as the sun’s blazing rays fell on its roof. Large dark, wet patches of sweat stained the underarms of his expensive suit, and the constant bouncing as the stage rattled along the trail did nothing to ease his stomach, which was already tied into a nervous knot.
He should be back in his office in New York City, editing the latest manuscript to come across his desk—not out here, away from proper civilization, chasing a nightmare. Kramer, his boss at the publishing company, demanded he head into the field as if he were a lowly journalist instead of a well-respected, world-renown editor.
The simple truth was the book he was currently stuck with needed more substance in order to be publishable; and, since the author was dead, it fell to Louis Farmer, editor extraordinaire, to “fix” the problem. Kramer, notoriously tight with his money, wasn’t about to hire a ghost writer to travel west and finish the project when he could just as easily use Louis to do the job without shelling out an additional penny beyond Louis’ normal salary and travel expenses. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead, above his gold-rimmed glasses.
Three other passengers shared the stifling stage with him. The man to his left was in his early twenties and had introduced himself as Michael Clark. He was smugly charismatic, with a roguish sort of charm. Louis pegged him as a gambler from the way he shuffled a worn deck of cards with practiced ease as they rode.
Across from them sat Mr. O’Rouke, a lawman in route to Reaper’s Valley to become its new sheriff. O’Rouke was a giant of a man, standing well over six feet in height, with wide shoulders and chiseled, rugged features. His look of hardness bespoke of years carving out a living with the deadly Colt .45 he wore holstered on his belt, low on his hip.
The lawman’s handshake was so firm, Louis had wondered if the cursory, polite gesture was going to break every bone in his hand when they’d been introduced.
Yet it was the fourth passenger who held Louis’ attention and interest, and he was quite certain the beauty had captured the awareness of the other two men, as well. Her name was Eliza Green. Even in these horrid conditions, she was stunning in her black dress.
She was headed west to settle the affairs of her recently deceased brother. It was easy to see she came from wealth by her gentile manner, but Louis’s interest in her was much more physical in nature. Her figure was slender and fetching beneath her dress, and her long blond hair was pulled back behind her head, showcasing her long, slender neck.
Her blue eyes were mesmorizing, and Louis forced himself to stare out the window lest he be caught staring at her. “Mr. Farmer? Excuse me, Mr. Farmer?” she unexpectedly called to him in her cultured
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